Sounds, seals and sea kayaking

After a rain-washed visit to Kaikoura, we headed to the far north east of the south island, to Marlborough Sounds. Here lies 1,500kms of breathtaking coast - one fifth of New Zealand’s total coastline - a maze of inlets, islands, headlands, peaks, beaches and vast expanses of water known as 'sounds'.

We drove the wiggly, stomach-tightening drive from Picton to the meandering Queen Charlotte Track, which we would spend the next few days dipping into. The whole track is 71kms, stretching from shoreline to ridgeline, exploring the hidden bays and coves of the Marlborough Sounds.

We made three tramps over three days, walking through lush, coastal forest to viewpoints overlooking Queen Charlotte and Kenepuru Sounds. To celebrate, we went for a dip in the sounds in the evening. Almost as good as a shower.

Just as we left Marlborough, the gathering clouds exploded overhead and rainfall erupted. After killing some time in the library and supermarket, we were campervan-bound for most of the day and night. Cheese sandwiches leave a lot to be desired as an evening meal, especially as we had already eaten them for lunch (we hoped the different flavour of pickle would make all the difference - it didn't).

We cowered in the middle of an isolated Lord of the Rings forest (known as 'Chetwood Forest' in the films) and hoped we wouldn't be floating down a newly-formed river when we woke up the next morning.

We awoke to sunshine and came out of our cheese-sandwich hibernation, glad to stretch our legs again with a wet walk to Harwoods hole - a 357m-deep sink hole.

The next day, with blue skies ahead, we were in Manauha to start our sea-kayaking adventure along the coast of the Abel Tasman National Park. We were going at it alone, but had a briefing from the kayak company, teaching us how to paddle, how to put the rudder down and use the foot pedals to work it, how to attach the spray skirt to form a tight lid between our waists and the boat’s opening, and — most important — how to detach the skirt if we capsize so we can swim free.

We should remember to face waves head on, not sideways, and if a wave hits the kayak parallel instead of perpendicular, then lean into it. We went over this last part about five times - anyone would think we were sailing to Australia (perhaps we would be, had they not been so thorough).

We packed all our gear into dry bags (mostly, I mean bin bags), including the tent we had hired, and soon we were on the beach, ready to launch. The water was a serene turquoise - so the chances of us needing the emergency procedures were low - and we set sail in the sunshine.

The Abel Tasman National Park (named after the mid-17th-century explorer who was the first European to site New Zealand, and Tasmania, funny that) crowns the top of the South Island with lush green mountain-sides that sprout tree ferns everywhere. The coastline curves out and in around points and bays, protruding like gnarled knuckles on a fist, and several islands with seal colonies rise up in rocky humps.

We got into our kayaking rhythm, feeling the muscles in our arms slowly getting used to this new exertion. In front of us stretched the aquamarine color of the water, white beach coves and cliffs with rope-like, black vines that hung and tangle around the shafts of giant ferns (called mamaku).

Singing British songstress Adele's back catalogue, we circumnavigated Adele Island and saw our first seal - a big fat one who was having a good scratch, indifferent to his audience.

There are seals all along the coast, and we spotted some tiny seal pups nestling up to mum on the rocks. The older infants played in the water, lying on their backs and flapping their tales in the air as if to poke fun at us.

We spent the day pulling into different bays for a swim, and finally docked up at Anchorage bay to set up camp behind the beach, where hundreds of blue starfish had been washed up in the rainstorm.

That evening, we met a great group of people (French, German, Israeli, American) and went to explore a cave alight like the night's sky with tiny glow worms. Then the stars came out in their thousands and we were unable to take our eyes off them.

After a cold night's sleep in the tent, we were back out on the water to warm up our stiff shoulders. We explored the lagoons along this stretch of coast, calm inlets that in just a couple of hours would be completely empty and dry because of the dramatic ebb and flow of the tides.

We pulled up on a very special beach for lunch: Medland's beach. It is named after the roguish Vernon Arnold Medland (known as 'Meddy) who lived here and refused to leave the island when instructed to by the authorities. In protest (he liked more than the odd tipple), we're told he blew up his house. I'm sure there's more to this story, but it goes without saying old 'Meddy' was a bit of a character.

After more seal-spotting and sun-lounging, we were picked up by a speedboat to take us back to Manauha. We gripped on tightly as it cut through the waves, rising up and slamming down with a force that sprayed water over the sides and sent shockwaves through our tired bodies.